Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“I didn’t run into you on purpose,” I insist, my impatience gathering steam. “I swear it on Lucky.”
“Interesting you didn’t deny calling the tow truck.” She gives me a beat to deny or admit the crime, and when I don’t do either, she says, “That’s what I thought. You’re taking the Fifth, huh? As all guilty men do. Now, run along home and let’s both agree we’ll turn around and sprint in the other direction if we happen to see each other walking around the neighborhood again, okay?”
I roll my eyes. “I’d be happy to ‘run along home,’ Charlotte, if you’d be so kind as to step the fuck aside and let me pass through the front door of my building.” I motion to the door behind her for emphasis.
Charlotte looks genuinely confused. But that can’t be. If Charlotte sincerely didn’t know my address before this moment, then why is she here? After everything that’s happened between us, there’s no scenario that could possibly make me believe her presence here now is nothing but some kind of bizarre coincidence.
I smile at Tessa. “It was nice meeting you. I’ve got to study now, so if you two ladies will kindly excuse me and let me pass, I promise I’ll happily never see you again, Charlotte, as long as I live.”
In a flash, Charlotte’s expression morphs from confusion to terror. “This isn’t funny,” she says. “You’re taking this vengeance thing too far, Auggie.”
I address Tessa. The reasonable one. “Tessa, I’m sorry, but your friend has brought you here under false pretenses. The truth is, this is where I live, which Charlotte knows full well, or else she wouldn’t have come here. She came to try to squeeze some money out of me, I’m assuming, and for some reason, she wanted you here to witness it. Or maybe she thought she needed a bodyguard.” I’m being funny, and Tessa knows it, based on her delighted smirk. The woman looks like a stone-cold badass, for sure, but she’s also visibly pregnant. Not a great pick for a bodyguard. I return to Charlotte. “I’m not giving you a dime, like I said. And that’s final. So, if you’ll step aside, please, I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
I take a step forward, and Charlotte thankfully steps aside with a stunned look on her pretty face. At the door, I shift Lucky in my arms to be able to punch in the door code while shielding the keypad with my shoulder. When I’ve successfully unlocked the door, I stride through it with a polite farewell to Tessa and a “fuck you” glare at Charlotte.
When I hear the heavy door click shut behind me, I put Lucky down and stride across the lobby toward a wall of mailboxes. Before I’ve opened mine, however, I hear the front door to the building open behind me. Footsteps enter the tile lobby. Charlotte’s voice says, “Prove you live here. I don’t believe you.”
I whirl around, feeling confused and irritated. I’m positive the door locked behind me; also, that I shielded the code when I punched it in. How’d Charlotte get the code to the door? Did she hide in the bushes and watch whoever came in before me?
“I don’t have to prove a damned thing to you. The real question is: how’d you get the code to the door?”
Charlotte motions to the bank of mailboxes. “If you truly live here, then open your mailbox.” She smirks like she’s just captured my queen in a game of chess.
“Only to get you off my back, once and for all. Not because I owe you a damned thing.” I pull out my keys and open my box, at which point Charlotte gasps audibly behind me. To emphasize my point, I pull out a short stack of mail from my box and hold up the top piece—an envelope from the University of Washington. Surely, it contains a duplicate copy of the tuition invoice that’s currently sitting in my email inbox—the same invoice that’s now past due—which means I should stop wasting my time here with this unhinged woman, as entertaining as she is, and get my ass to a craft store.
“That’s me,” I say, pointing to the addressee’s name and address on the envelope. “Augustus Vaughn.” In a huff, I grab my driver’s license out of my wallet, and then hand both the envelope and the license to Tessa to confirm they match up.
As Tessa looks at the documents in her hands, Charlotte leans in and peeks, too; and when she sees the two names are, indeed, one and the same, Charlotte grips her friend’s arm and whimpers.
“I haven’t changed the address on my license yet,” I say. “I just moved in. But you can clearly see I’m Augustus Vaughn, the guy who receives mail at this building’s address—because he lives here.”